The rumbling underneath my seat is making me antsy. Flickers of amber rays dance in and out of my side-glance. I can never seem to wear the appropriate clothing. It's 37 degrees in December. Now normally the Amtrak train to Washington DC is warm and toasty this time of year. Outside was bright. Sun rays coating the grassy knolls and projecting it's yellow tinge on the baron trees. I think I'm depressed. Or maybe some type of chemical imbalance that makes me procrastinate, overeat and dream constantly. I have this idea of life. These reoccurring themes in my head. I often smile and laugh at myself. Jerry, you idiot. You're a moron and a failure. I am not saying these things for someone to state the contrary. I am saying it because I enjoy it. I enjoy feeling like scum and telling myself that I am the being undeserving of something great and beautiful. After all, if life miraculously changed and I had everything I every wanted I would still be unhappy. Somehow the mums that would line my cobblestone walkway would be the incorrect shade. Or the Land Rover in the driveway would have electrical issues. I would like to run away. The question is where?
In what Podunk town will I be able to finally relax and gather my self. It isn't the issue of surroundings. I believe I am the issue. It isn't the issue of things or success. Again, I am the issue. Somehow my virtuous and fleeting self is too much for anyone to handle. I am a procrastinator who believes that he is entitled to all of the riches and fame. I scoff at myself because of my absurd thoughts of cabdrivers being my own personal drivers or my partner in life "acting" as my personal assistant. Who am I and where do I get off.
I'm rambling.